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I looked at her before motioning vaguely around the quad. “Don’t you get it? I just doomed you. By talking to you in public, by sitting with you at this table…” Unable to tell her everything but hoping just this much would be enough, I waved my hand. “Everyone here thinks we’ve had sex.”
And sex with the likes of me would slaughter her image.
She laughed as if I were being ridiculous. “Oh, whatever. I seriously doubt that. I barely even touched your arm. People do not…” She glanced around and blinked at how many people were actually paying attention to us. “Or maybe they do.”
As her shoulders sank bashfully, her eyes wide with alarm, I felt the humbling need to apologize.
But she nodded and gulped audibly as if accepting her new reputation with grace. “So…uh, Dr. Janison is really one of your, umm, clients then?” She groaned suddenly and let her shoulders sag. “Wow. This is going to make my next Early British Literature class way awkward.”
“Wait.” I grabbed her arm, trying not to panic. “Are you saying you have a class with her? With Dr. Janison?” When she nodded, my hopes sank. “Shit.”
“What?” Reese asked, her voice alarmed. “What does that mean?”
“Look.” I sighed, knowing I’d do anything to fix this, to keep her grade from suffering, because I was the dumbass who’d approached her in public and freaking sat beside her the night after calling her name inside another woman. “If she starts giving you a tough time, or failing you or…anything, let me know. I’ll talk to her.”
Except I planned to talk to her, anyway.
Reese’s eyes grew wide. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why… Why would she fail me just for sitting next to you on a public bench?” Then her face paled as if she were already getting a clue.
I’d already told her too much so I sat there miserably as she shook her head.
“But that makes no sense. Even if we had…you know, had sex or whatever, she has no reason to get jealous. Doesn’t she know she can’t possibly be your only…customer?”
“Of course she knows,” I muttered, not about to tell her exactly what kind of bone Monica had to pick with Reese specifically. So I said, “But you’re obviously not a customer. She might feel slighted if she thinks I gave you a…” I waved a hand, thinking quick before blurting, “You know, a freebie.”
“Wow.” Pulling back in obvious insult, Reese lifted her hand. “Okay. But wow. Not only is this the strangest conversation ever but, wow. A freebie?”
“You know what I mean,” I mumbled.
But Reese only laughed. “Just convince her I paid for it then, that I’m, you know, a client too, just like her.”
Huh? “What?” I asked. “You don’t want me to tell her we’re not fooling around at all?”
With an immediate blush, Reese averted her gaze and waved a hand. “Or that. That…I mean, sure, the truth would probably be best. Yeah. Let’s stick with the truth.”
God, she was cute. How the fuck could she make the worst thing feel fun? “Except she won’t buy it,” I said, forcing myself to remember the gravity of the situation here. “And she knows you can’t be a client.”
“Hey. Why couldn’t I be a client?”
Damn, she was perfect. I loved the young, innocent naïve parts of her just as much as I loved her spunk and verve. “Reese, you just admitted you couldn’t afford the same kind of shoes as her. There’s no way you could afford me.”
“Oh, really?” She arched an eyebrow and set her hands on her hips. “Just how much do you cost, Mr. Ego?”
Going for shock value so she would stop making such light of this, I leaned in and whispered, “Three grand,” into her ear.
Her mouth gaped open before she squeaked, “Okay, yeah. I couldn’t afford that. But… Wow, I don’t know.” She waved a hand. “Don’t you have a payment plan or something? Reduced prices for the lower income?”
I laughed. How was this girl even possible? She was about as intuitive as she was clueless. The mix charmed me as much as it worried me. She seriously needed protection from every Monica and Patricia of the world. They’d eat her alive. And that would probably destroy me.
“No,” I said. “I do not offer payment plans. Are you for real? I play the expensive way or I don’t play at all. I don’t do this for my health, you know.”
“Then why—”
“Because being a decent, moral upstanding citizen didn’t keep the eviction notices away,” I exploded. “It didn’t get my sister a new wheelchair. It didn’t put food on my mother’s table. It didn’t keep the electric company from turning off our power in the middle of the hottest day of the year. And it sure as hell didn’t get me enrolled in college this semester. This is all about the money. Only about the money. Got it?”
When she shied back, I realized I’d gone too far. Felt like I’d just slapped a damn kitten.
“Got it,” she said, trying yet failing to smile. She waved a hand. “Actually, that explanation makes you sound kind of noble, you know, with you falling on the sword of absolute depravity to save your family. You’d probably make a good Saturday afternoon movie.”
